Master of Freedom: A Mountain Masters Novella

by Cherise Sinclair

  Oh, he shouldn’t smile at her. It was too distracting. And he’d called her pretty.

  “Gin,” he said again. “You wanted to learn about BDSM. Came all the way here. True?”

  Under his penetrating gaze, her chest turned as shivery as if she were inhaling tiny bubbles with each breath. Stop melting and think. She put a chill into her voice to remind him of proper decorum—which didn’t include cabin visits to a woman in her nightwear. “It may be true, but I do not believe my interests are your concern.”

  An unexpected dimple appeared on his right cheek above his beard. “If you want to freeze me out, that accent of yours ruins the effect. It’s like listening to warm honey.”

  She gave an exasperated sniff and tried to free her hand. “Go on back to your students, please.”

  “All done with them. They’re Jake’s now,” he said. “The way I see it, I owe you a class for helping me earlier. Let’s go to the pavilion where you’ll have some backup, and I’ll give you a taste of what you missed.”

  “No.” The word jumped right out, but…lacked any conviction whatsoever.

  And oh, he could tell. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His intent blue gaze stayed on her face.

  She mustn’t. Shouldn’t. Actual participation would be insane. Stupid. Foolhardy.

  But he’d said they’d go to the pavilion. Kallie’d rescue her if needed. Kallie and Jake might be friends with Atticus, but neither would permit anything abusive.

  She’d scolded the heroine in her book for cowardice. Was she any braver? If she wanted to learn about BDSM, what better opportunity would she have?

  Only…he’d touch her.

  How badly she wanted his hands on her was disconcerting. Her swallow was loud in the quiet cabin.

  Amusement lit his eyes.

  Despite her inner quivers, she gave him a nod.

  “Let me hear a yes from you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Atta-girl.” His strong fingers rubbed warmth back into her palm. “I plan to do a bit of bondage.” He paused, his gaze holding her. “I’ll leave your clothing on—but might move it some.”

  She managed another nod.

  “And then I’ll use my hands on you. But nothing else, Virginia.”

  “Use my hands on you.” Oh, my, yes. Heat rolled across her skin despite the chill in the cabin.

  “I see you like the idea.”

  How could she be so obvious? Yet he forestalled her sense of humiliation by squeezing her fingers and adding, “I like the idea too, pet.”

  She struggled to behave as if she wasn’t a complete ninny. “Um. Should I have a safeword?”

  His knuckles ran down her cheek, like the burning trail of a meteor. “Not this time, sweetheart. You’ll have enough to think about without having to remember a word. No will mean no.”

  Would she even be able to speak if the Sahara Desert in her throat grew drier? “All right.”

  “Then we’re good to go.” He used her hand to tug her right out of the bed.

  His gaze raked over her, from her breasts, which seemed woefully exposed by the form-fitting lace bodice, to where her nightie stopped at her upper thighs. Thank goodness she’d worn the matching lacy bikini panty.

  “I like how the color matches your eyes.”

  The surprising compliment kept her from diving back under the covers.

  Girl, pull it together. She was a tough, experienced social worker, not a historical romance heroine.

  Before she could continue scolding herself, he slid his fingers behind her neck and gripped her hair, preventing her instinctive withdrawal. “Listen, Virginia. Every time your mind wanders from the here and now, I’m going to do something to drag it back.”

  She stared up at him, feeling his strong grip, the utter confidence in his deep voice. Seeing only the resolve in his blue eyes.

  “Yeah.” His lips curved. “Much better.”

  Before she could respond, he scooped her up into his arms.

  “Oh my goodness, put me down.” She punched at his arm, appalled, dizzy, terrified.

  “I have you, sweetheart.” He hadn’t completely closed the cabin door, and he nudged it open with a boot and walked out into the dark night as if he was treading a well-lit hallway.

  Kallie and Jake looked up as he entered the pavilion. The rest were busy. In the middle, Ralph had tied his wife to the picnic table and was teasing her with a vibrating toy. On the far side, Sylvia was tied forward over a post so her husband could take her from behind.

  “Oh my stars.” This was way, way, way more than the students had done last night. “Let me down,” Gin demanded, even as her arms curled around Atticus’s neck.

  “Easy, baby.” He turned so she got a far-too-good look at the activities. “Does anyone there appear worried about spectators?”

  “I… They…”

  He made a warning noise, as if to say, look before you talk.

  One woman was giggling. And the second…climaxed then. Gin’s cheeks heated. “I guess they’re fine,” she muttered.

  With a masculine chuckle, Atticus rubbed his chin on top of her head.

  Jake strolled over. “Found yourself a pretty play partner, I see.” He gave an approving nod.

  “More of a student,” Atticus corrected. “She’ll feel more at ease if you promise to keep an eye on her.”

  Jake’s blue eyes—a shade less gray than Atticus’s—softened. “We’ll watch out for you, Gin,” he said gently. “Being careful is good. Anytime you don’t know the Dom, play where you have buddies around.”

  She nodded.

  “Atticus, your bag’s on the table there.” Jake gestured to the other side of the fire pit. “Kallie thought you might return.”

  “Appreciate it,” Atticus said. He carried her across the pavilion with a detour to avoid the older couple in the center. Ralph was alternating spanking with teasing his wife with a sex toy. Her cries coincided with the fleshy smacking sounds.

  Don’t look. Gin set her forehead against Atticus’s shoulder and heard him laugh again.

  At the picnic table, Atticus set Gin on her feet. “Stand right there, Virginia.” Atticus’s relaxed voice couldn’t conceal the power beneath.

  Gin’s knees shook as she waited, and she couldn’t tell if she were chilled…or scared. She knew darn well she was excited though.

  How many times had she imagined herself in a book heroine’s place? And here she stood.

  Lord have mercy.

  After laying the shaggy six-foot rug on the ground, he shrugged off his flannel shirt. The black T-shirt beneath stretched over contoured chest muscles and hugged his flat stomach in a way that made her mouth dry.

  He opened his bag, draped a thick blue rope over his arm, and tucked blunt-tipped scissors in his jeans pocket. He studied her, standing close enough she could feel his body’s heat. “Injuries? Medical problems? Any past circumstances or triggers that might make you panic?”

  The questions were reassuring. He was being careful. “No. Only—you won’t use a gag, will you?” Just the thought made her heart rate increase.

  “Gags are for people who know each other,” he said. “I need you to tell me if anything is painful or too frightening.” He ran his finger over her lips. “The ropes shouldn’t hurt you, babe.”

  Her next breath came a little easier…until her mind focused on the slight emphasis he’d given “the ropes.” Would something else hurt? She held back her question. The Doms in her books required their submissives stay quiet.

  Annoying Atticus might not be a smart idea.

  He was still standing there. Watching her. When her eyes lifted to his, he gave a nod, as if satisfied, then walked around her. Touching her. Running a hand down her bare arm. Across her lower back. Moving her hair to fall down her back. He stroked down her spine, as if assessing her vertebrae. His fingers massaged her left shoulder, then the right.

  His hand was warm and callused. Firm.

  “You’r
e a beautiful woman, Virginia.” He unbuttoned her nightie, letting it hang open. “I’m going to tie a modified karada—a rope web for the torso.”

  Her hands closed into fists as she kept herself from moving. She was still covered, she reminded herself. The silky material caught on her peaked nipples, making her think of the old question, Are you cold or glad to see me?

  She had an uncomfortable feeling that Atticus already knew the answer.

  He draped the rope behind her neck, the ends dangling in front. Slowly, but without hesitation, he began to weave the rope around her, above her breasts, below her breasts.

  With the first knot, she tensed. He stopped. His gaze on her was steady, revealing no irritation or impatience. Jake and Kallie liked him, she could tell. She’d seen him work with the other people here and how he emphasized safety and honest communication. Everything about the man said he was in control. He wasn’t a little boy—he was a man, an honorable one.

  “We’ll stop if you need to, but you can trust me, baby,” he said quietly.

  “I know. I do.”

  The appreciation in his gaze said he knew she’d offered him a gift. “Thank you, sweetling.”

  She felt slight tugs as he created a series of diamond-like patterns down the center of her body. Gradually a latticework of rope snugly formed around her torso, and the sensation of being enclosed was oddly comforting. Back when she’d worked with children, some of the autistic ones could be settled by firmly wrapping a blanket around them, as if the sensation of being hugged would subdue their nerves so they could process the world’s input more normally.

  This was…nice. Under the slight scrape of the ropes and the sure movements of Atticus’s hands, she felt her pulse slow. He never left her, always kept a hand on her somewhere, as if she might float away if he let her go.

  “You take rope well.” He grasped her upper arms. “I want you on the ground now.”

  She started to reach for him for balance…and couldn’t. While she’d been daydreaming, he’d bound her arms. Tipping her head to examine her left arm, she saw an enthralling gridwork running from her wrist to over her elbow, like a woven sheath, all attached to the blue ropes patterning her torso.

  Wiggling, she tried to move her arms out, and nothing budged. Her heart rate kicked up a beat and increased exponentially as she struggled. She couldn’t move

  A strong hand closed on her shoulder. “Easy, Virginia, easy. Look at me now.”

  Her breathing felt too fast, but she was fine. Wasn’t panicking or anything. Much. It was just…she couldn’t move.

  He cupped her chin and got right into her space, his blue eyes trapping hers. “Take a slow breath, babe. Another.” His voice was easy and low, like the rumble of thunder in the distance.

  She inhaled.

  “Good. You knew this was what was going to happen. This isn’t scary—you’re just surprised at the feeling, I know. Very normal.” He was close enough she inhaled his crisp pine scent with each breath.

  “I’m all right,” she decided after a minute.

  “Of course you are,” he said. He bent and kissed her gently. “Mmm, nice.” He took her lips again—longer, but still lightly, leaving her wanting more.

  What would it feel like if he really kissed her?

  “Now, let’s try this again.”

  As she bent her knees, he scooped her up and squatted down to lay her on her back.

  Oh, boy. The blue rug was fluffy-soft, the ground hard beneath it. She wiggled. The knowledge she’d have trouble rising with her arms pinned to her sides was a bit worrisome.

  “You look gorgeous in rope.” Still on one knee, Atticus rested his forearms on his thigh. His gaze was warm, approval gentling his lean features.

  She managed a smile. “It’s kind of nice. So is this it?” Would he release her now, having given her the “taste” he’d talked about? She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved.

  “’Fraid I have more in mind.” He pulled another rope from his bag, this one a dark red.

  “More?”

  “It would be a shame to leave half your body without decoration.” With competent fingers, he created an amazing ropework of knots running down her left leg, then lifted her knee and secured her ankle to the blue rope around her hips. He repeated the process on her right leg.

  Flat on her back, knees bent, feet widely separated. The provocative posture seemed as if she were waiting for a guy to settle over her. Another flush ran over her skin. Thank goodness, she still had her nightie and panty on.

  “Better.” He surveyed his work, and a dimple dented his right cheek before he tugged on her baby doll top. Under the ropes, the silky material slid apart as he bared her breasts completely.

  “Wait—” She moved to pull her nightie shut, and the ground fell away beneath her as she realized she couldn’t. Couldn’t prevent anything he wanted to do.

  And anyone could see her. “They’ll—” Her voice died away. He’d positioned her behind a picnic table, which partially blocked any view of them.

  “Figured you might be a tad modest, especially coming from the Bible Belt.” He rubbed his knuckles over her cheek. Still on one knee, he loomed over her, darkness behind him, firelight flickering over his tanned face. His cheekbones were high—his features sharply chiseled.

  There was nothing soft about the man. He exuded a dominance that said things would go his way and all the control was in his hands.

  “But hiding behind a table is all the modesty I will allow you,” he said in an even voice, holding her gaze with his. And then he traced along the rope covering her chest.

  “Atticus,” she gasped. Her breasts swelled, and the nipples puckered to jutting points in the cool air.

  His finger never stopped as it followed the ropes above her bared breasts and then below.

  “Now, darlin’, you stay silent unless you really have to talk,” he murmured. He wet his fingertip and circled one nipple, the cooling wetness making it harden further.

  Her toes curled under and a throbbing started between her legs. She realized she was extremely damp down below.

  He stretched out beside her, propped up on one elbow. His free hand gently molded her right breast while his thumbnail scraped over the nipple.

  She gasped as the exquisite abrasion shot straight to her clit.

  “Nice.” He bent and nuzzled her cheek, his beard soft against her skin. And then he claimed her mouth, his firm lips taking charge. Surprised, she resisted for a second, then her lips parted, opening to him. His tongue swept inside. Deliberately, he explored her mouth in a long, drugging kiss. His hand continued to stroke her breast.

  Her body craved more. As she wiggled, wanting to touch him, she realized again she couldn’t move. Couldn’t fend him off if she needed. He could do…anything to her.

  More heat shot through her, and a moan escaped.

  “Mmmhmm. The southern magnolia likes bondage.”

  No. Surely not. But truth was truth. She’d never—ever—been so aroused. Thank goodness she still wore her bikini panty.

  Only as he lifted his head, he ran his hand down her bare stomach and under the tiny excuse for coverage.

  Oh my stars. She gave a cry—half protest, half desire.

  He paused. Waited.

  She should object. Nothing came out.

  The sun lines beside his eyes crinkled…and he continued. When his fingertip grazed her clit, her hips jerked.

  “Atticus,” she whispered.

  One side of his mouth tilted up. “What did I tell you about talking?” His voice held both laughter and sternness. And without warning, he stroked right over her clit, his fingers slick and hot and firm.

  Her cry drowned out the crackle of the fire.

  “Mmmhmm.” He sounded as if he were taking notes, although his intent gaze contained enough heat to warm her skin. His finger teased her, up and around the increasingly swollen and sensitive nub. As if he had all the time in the world, he simply…played
. Circles and taps, firm rubs, light caresses.

  And each touch sent pleasure lancing across her nerves until need vibrated through her system.

  Then he moved his hand away.

  Her whine of protest made him smile.

  “Soon, sweetling. First, let’s find out how you feel about pain.”

  She stiffened, a tremor of anxiety running up her spine.

  “Not to worry,” he said with a huff of laughter. “I’m not a sadist. But pain can be a rewarding tool if used right.” His hand stroked up her stomach, palmed a breast, and plucked at her nipple. This time the sizzle was stronger, as if her awakened lower half was unable to fend off the urgent call for sex. After teasing both nipples, he rolled one between his fingers.

  Heavens above, the feeling… His fingers were warm, scratchy, and created a disconcertingly pleasurable pressure. Her eyes closed as her back arched upward.

  “Look at me, Virginia.”

  Half dazed with sensation, she opened her eyes.

  He trapped her eyes, held them, as his pinch compressed and the overwhelming pleasure edged into pain. Everything inside her turned liquid.

  Sweat broke out on her skin as her legs trembled.

  “Oh yeah, baby,” he said softly. “You’re fun to play with.” He released her nipple and even as the blood rushed back in with a wave of heat, his attention turned to the other.

  Pleasure, pain. The entire pavilion seemed to shake with her growing need.

  Before she could recover, he lowered his head. His tongue trailed over her throbbing breasts before he sucked on one nipple.

  His fingers trapped her clit. A light pinch there shocked her and her hips jerked upward.

  He stroked the sensitive nub, working one side, then the other, and she swelled, tightened.

  Each touch, each sucking tug on her breast, drowned her in sensation. Her body gathered, the pressure coiling deep inside. Wait. Here. No. And then the inexorable orgasm rolled over her, shook her loose from her mooring, and propelled her straight out to sea.